Long Way to Happy
by egyouppt
Summary: Post 2x10. Finn doesn't know what he wants, but he knows what he doesn't want. And he really doesn't want to feel like this anymore. But it's never that easy, is it?


**A/N:**_ Okay, hey guys. I just wanna say that I've paired this under Finn and Rachel. It's not really a lie, but it's sort of hypothetical and I did it because ultimately, it comes down to Finn and Rachel._

_That being said, I apparently have an angsty soul? I don't know, that's what they tell me anyway. But there's some stuff in here I've taken from something Naya's said about Santana in regard to Finn and a picture that Brad tweeted. I'm sorry if you all hate it. :(_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee._

* * *

He really doesn't wanna be here. Like, school has never been his favorite place to be obviously. But now it's more like a prison than it ever was when he wanted to get out 'cause his _friends_ were assholes and he didn't really wanna be like them, but what choice did he have and couldn't he just leave?

All that feels like _nothing_ compared to this. He tries to get better. It's not as if he _likes_ being miserable or feeling like a dead man walking…or shuffling. He just sort of goes through the motions. He eats what his mom puts on his plate because he's put her through enough shit in his sixteen and some change years and he doesn't wanna make her feel worse. But he'd barely been able to get up and come to school today. At least over break he could mope by himself without any _infuriating_ looks of pity from random people he can't remember the last names of. Or the looks of (badly concealed) hope that Rachel sends his way and he ignores because the last thing he's gonna do any time soon is look back. Or knowing smirks from Santana. The Cheerio just gets more annoying as time goes by.

Ever since the wedding when she was all weird and, "You and me could date," and stuff, he just gets wary of her. And the more she looks at him and the more she tries to make it look like she's _not_ looking at him, the more it pisses him off. 'Cause she got what she wanted, more or less. He and Rachel broke up.

But he's not sure why she ever thought he'd wanna date her after breaking up with Rachel (though initially he never even thought of breaking up with Rachel 'cause it just never seemed like it was gonna happen. Why would it?). And then it confuses him since all she's had to say to him for the better part of a year and a half is just BS or insulting. Or both. She'd sort of been digging on him from day one—and yeah at first it was different because he was quarterback and wasn't in Glee or wanting or dating Rachel. So at first, he shrugged it off, 'cause he thought she was just teasing.

But then she just got bitchier and bitchier and he mostly just always wants to tell her to _shut the fuck up_ all the time now. But when he finally gets to his locker, she's still sending him that weird smile where it looks like she's trying to be genuine, but anything she's done nice or true is too rusty so she can't _quite_ pull it off. It just creeps him out. He ignores her.

He sees Rachel, but she _doesn't_ see him, or at least pretends she doesn't and he's not sure if that's what he really wants or not, but he doesn't question it because it's better than being wrong. It's better than if he tries to say hey, but then realizes he can't 'cause what he really wants to say is all just questions he _really_ doesn't want the answers to. Plus, he's pretty sure talking to her will just make him start crying all over again and Lord knows he's done enough of _that_ bullshit.

So no. He doesn't go there. Because it's not worth it and he doesn't want _her_ to be worth it. She doesn't deserve it. He wonders why he even cares about what she _deserves_ 'cause all he knows is maybe he wasn't or isn't perfect, but you didn't see _him_ shoving his tongue down someone else's throat to feel better about himself and make _her_ feel bad about _herself._ So it's whatever.

(It's not—like, at all. But that's what he tells himself).

He's on his way to lunch when Santana corners him. Oh good. 'Cause it's not like his life isn't crummy enough as it is, right? Santana claims to be good at a lot of things, but all _he_ knows is that she fucking _aces_ in screwing up his life. So excuse him if she's the last (well, _second_ to last) person he wants to see.

"Hey, you!" she calls.

He keeps walking.

She grabs his shoulder tight enough so he can't shrug her off. "What the hell is your problem?" she asks irritably.

He gives her a look like she's the biggest fucking moron on the entire planet. Maybe she is, 'cause she still seems to think he wants anything to do with her. He doesn't.

"Well, I mean, I know you and Yentl broke up," she goes on. His eyes harden. "But I seriously fail to see how that's bad. 'Cause now you can be _popular_ again, though I'm sure you've forgotten what that feels like by now. But don't worry. It won't take you long to re-adjust, especially because you can just date me. Everyone will think you're hot." She looks at him like she's just offered him the best deal ever, but well, see he remembers what happened the _last_ time he made a deal with her. And he's still paying for it now. So even if there were any bone in his body that could stand her for more than five minutes, he knows he'd say no anyway.

"Go away," he tells her coolly. Like it's nothing. Like she's nothing.

She _is_ nothing.

Which is how it's all different from Rachel because _she_, well, she _should _be nothing. But she's not. And until she is, he's never gonna be sane again.

Santana lowers her voice—as if it can make her sound more appealing and less like a bitch with a black hole for a heart. But that's not completely accurate either, 'cause _his_ heart is the black hole—it destroys and sucks in happiness and kills it so no one can have it. Santana? She just doesn't use hers. That's all. "Don't you see, Frankenteen? This is our chance!"

"No thanks." He's not sure he can be more nonchalant than that.

"You're an idiot," she mutters.

Charming. Just freaking _great._ Right. _Sure Santana, I'd _love_ to date you, you skank._

He doesn't say anything and she steps in front of him, poking a finger into his chest.

"No matter how much I think, I will _never_ understand what you saw in her!" she tells him.

"I know," he responds tiredly. "That's 'cause you think with your—" He gestures vaguely toward her crotch. "And not your head. Or your heart," he adds quietly, maybe too quietly.

She scowls. "That didn't used to bother you."

Finn glares at her. "You know what? We hooked up _once_ and it was pretty much the worst night of my life. Leave me _alone,_ Santana!"

He strides down the hallway and away from her, like he wishes he could walk away from _everything._

But that'd be too easy, right? 'Cause if there's one thing Finn's life _isn't,_ it's easy. Especially now. Especially now that he's Rachel-less and broken and then there's _Santana_ and he doesn't really understand her angle. But he doesn't really understand angles in general, he thinks. Some are really big and obvious, and like if he's cutting a piece of pie on Thanksgiving. And others are really minute and subtle, like when his mom tells him he can't have any more of that pie, so he only cuts a little sliver so she doesn't notice he's getting more. And some just go on and on and on, like lines and circles, like the aching in his chest whenever he gets a little bit of _her_ scent in his mouth, when they're dancing a little too close to each other in glee club because Mr. Schue apparently has no morals, that fuckwad. And yeah, he knows it's not cool to call your favorite teacher mean names and stuff, it's also _not cool_ to force your favorite(?) student to dance with the one girl who'd stolen away everything he'd had left.

But thinking about it sucks even more than the fact that it all happened sucks, because he makes himself relive it and stuff, like he can't believe it actually happened. And sometimes he _can't_ believe it. But then he sees the way she was all stuttering and stumbling for words like he usually has to, but he'd known exactly what to say. So it'd been kinda like that parallel universe shit that Sam likes to read about except oh wait! _It was real life._

Real stupid shitty ass giant ball of suckishness life. He's pretty sure some fucked up alternate universe would be a lot better.

But then, he's pretty sure almost anything is better than…_this._

* * *

She hangs around the baseball field after Cheerios practice one day. It's warmer than it should be in February, but that's okay with him because it's better for training. Baseball season starts soon so he spends the afternoons running and staying in shape. But running is kinda cool too 'cause it's a good stress reliever and whatever. Like, all he has to do is focus on his breathing and making sure it's one foot and then the other. It's comforting. Or at least more comforting than thinking that Valentine's Day is next week and he's all alone because for whatever reasons, he's never good enough and never better than _Puck._ He scowls to himself as he slows to a stop because he's tired of his thoughts being on loop.

It's annoying and distracting and it makes him wanna punch little kitties. And he actually _likes_ kitties!

Fucking love.

It ruins everything.

Or rather, it makes everything better and so blissful and perfect. _Then_ it ruins everything. The bastard.

He pulls his shirt up to wipe his forehead and tries to ignore the way she's staring at him. On one hand, it's kinda nice to be looked at like that 'cause everyone wants to feel good about themselves, right? Plus, he guesses she takes back all that crap she said earlier in the year about him being a hot mess or whatever. And maybe he's not Sam or like Sam at all, but he's not doing _that_ bad, right? Rachel had told him he was hot.

_Rachel._

He grits his teeth. What's the point in torturing himself continuously like this?

He'd been alone on Valentine's Day last year too. He can get through it this time too.

Can't he?

He's not sure it matters.

"Finn," she says, walking toward him. It's weird—hearing her say his real name and all.

"Um, hi." He's still walking though, so she just walks with him. He actually kinda thinks she might go right into the locker room with him. Although, knowing her, she's probably been in there before for who knows what. And that's not anything he really wants to think about 'cause it's creeping him out.

"Look," she starts. "I know you're still hung up on the dwarf and everything, but it could be nice just me and you. I mean, Valentine's Day is coming up and Puck is hung up on that girl from the wrestling team, so I won't be hooking up with him again anytime soon." She shudders dramatically and Finn wishes she was a dude so he could punch her in the face.

"You know," he tells her exasperatedly, "you might try talking to me _without_ insulting me. And for the record, I don't give a shit about what you do with Puck. Get out of here." He pulls the door to the locker room open.

"You're pathetic," she tells him angrily.

"Yeah?" he counters. He is. He _knows_ he is. "Well, at least I'm not a bitch."

He lets the door slam, not looking back.

Of all the people to call him pathetic! Yeah, his grades are dropping again and he's kinda zombie—except without the cool abilities to kill people and stuff. But he's not the one who gives it up to anything with a working _reproductive organ._ (Sometimes the things Rachel would say to him don't go away and then he remembers _fuck fuck fuck_ he doesn't need to talk like her or for her approval anymore. He sighs listlessly). And he's also not the one begging for attention from someone who _clearly_ isn't interested and then tries to make it seem like he's _not_ by being an ass.

So yeah, he's pathetic.

But so is she, isn't she? Maybe the whole world is full of pathetic people. People who are never gonna find what they're looking for. Or if they do, it'll be ripped away from them when they least expect it. People who don't care anymore and people who do, but act like they don't to the point where it all boils down to the same thing. People who feel nothing or wish they felt nothing 'cause it's better than the pain and the misery they _do_ feel.

Maybe for once he fits in perfectly.

He showers quickly, wanting to get out of here and home as fast as he can. He just wants to bury himself under his covers and pretend like things are okay again. Just for one delusional moment. He just wants to forget, you know? That's normal, isn't it? Then again, he's probably not the best judge of what's normal and what isn't.

He sighs as he walks out again, heading toward the parking lot. She glares daggers at him as he walks by here and he kinda wonders why she's still hanging around.

He almost feels bad.

But then he remembers she's a terrible person and if he has to feel like crap, why shouldn't she?

* * *

Finn frowns in frustration, glaring at his math quiz. He doesn't fucking know what an indirect proof is. Or why this triangle is some certain kind of dumbass triangle as opposed to some other kind of dumbass triangle. And he doesn't give a crap. When is he _ever_ gonna need this shit?

He throws the test down on his teacher's desk on his way out.

She's at his locker when he gets there. This is way worse than when Rachel was stalking him last year. _And here we go again,_ he thinks. If he could just stop thinking of her for ten damn minutes, he might find some way to not be miserable all the fucking time.

But she sees him coming and she falters for a second. Then she walks away, not glancing backwards at him. That's weird, he thinks. But that's really all the thinking he does on it, 'cause he's pretty tired of thinking. Or at least tired of thinking about Santana and wondering what her motives and stuff are.

Coach Beiste tells him after practice that he better shape up or else she's putting Sam back in as first string  
quarterback. He nods, resigned, and tells himself he can _do_ this. He can get his head back in the game and out of his ass and all that other stuff. It doesn't work so much, but neither does anything else he tries, so it doesn't really phase him. It is true, though, that the last thing he wants is to put on the sidelines because of _Sam._ Because Sam thinks all this stuff is gonna make him the most popular guy in school.

But what he doesn't realize is that none of it matters. Even if he's popular in a shithole school like William McKinley, it doesn't mean jack out there in the real world. And after their stay in this place, when they graduate and all that, they're all just gonna be losers again. No one wants to give a chance to a jock from fucking _Ohio_ and it's not like they say when they say high school prepares you for the real world. 'Cause maybe Sam is or isn't on his way to being on top in high school. But he's gonna be just like all the other chumps who make it to college and think it's gonna be the same way there. And then he's gonna get eaten alive.

See, Finn's been doing some research on this shit in the last few weeks. He's been thinking about scholarships and SATs and college, mostly because he's given up thinking he's gonna make good in any of them again. So he'd wanted to know what it was all like. Turns out? Not always so charming. He used to not try at anything really, except football. And then he was trying hard at football _and_ glee club. And then he tried hard at pretty much everything. But now he's not trying very hard at anything again, except this time it's including football. Maybe he should just accept his fate as some deadbeat gas pumper.

But the thought of that depresses him further and he slams his locker closed because he _hates_ how he's just given up on everything again.

He just doesn't know how to get back to where he was before.

* * *

He thinks it's fitting that Valentine's Day falls on a Monday—the shittiest holiday of the year on the shittiest day of the week. It's like poetry. Really fucking _awful_ poetry.

He skips school. He doesn't wanna face Rachel and the way he knows she'd been planning their valentine's date for months before 'cause it hurts too much just like holding your breath hurts too much.

He doesn't wanna see Santana and all her bitchyness and, "you're a fail," type shit 'cause he knows all that already and he doesn't understand the point of her rubbing it in his face all the time. Especially since everyone's been pounding that into his head since day one and he figures he needs _some_ kind of break, you know?

He spends the day eating Cheetos and jerking off to nameless women on his TV screen—and nope, he's not imagining a short little spitfire with deep brown eyes or the fullest lips he could ever imagine. Nope. Not once.

He scrubs a hand over his face 'cause _surely_ this isn't normal, right? To be thinking of her like this when any other time or any other way he tries to think about her makes it feel like his chest is collapsing.

He picks up a bottle of water and gulps it down, resting against the counter. He'll probably be in trouble when his mom gets home 'cause the school probably called her and asked where he was and it's not like she knows he's skipping school. But he really doesn't give a damn, which isn't surprising since it's not like he gives a damn about very much these days. She doesn't ground him when she does get home; she just gives him a look of sorrowful look of deep pity and he's pretty sure that's actually worse. But she doesn't say anything, so neither does he.

She changes her clothes and kisses him on the forehead before she leaves again, telling him he has clean clothes downstairs. Finn looks down at the jeans he'd wrestled on a few moments before she'd come home. They'll do. It's not like he has any fancy plans for tonight or anything.

His mom goes out with Burt tonight. So it's seven o'clock on a Monday night and he needs something to do. And he kinda wants a beer, but he's not nearly as intimidating or good at lying as Puck is, so he knows no one is gonna offer to buy him any. And he doesn't have connections or _friends _like he used to, so he settles for finding some chocolate milk instead.

What he doesn't expect, though, as he climbs out of his truck is to see Santana sitting in the Pick N Save parking lot, her knees curled up against her chest. And holy fuck is she _crying?_ Did someone at Breadstix refuse to fill her wheelbarrow again or something? He really wants to just ignore her and get his chocolate milk and get the hell outta there, but he knows it's never that simple for him. He steps in front of her carefully.

"Santana?"

She looks up at him through bleary eyes and when she realizes who it is, her face turns cold. She ignores him. And on a normal day, Finn would count his blessings for that. But this _isn't_ a normal day. So he tries his best to act like a real human being instead of the, like, pod-alien he's been the last few months.

"Hey," he says softly. "What's up with you?"

"Get the fuck away from me."

He frowns angrily, but you know what? If she wants to be this way, she can be. He's had enough of the bullshit. "Fine."

But he's an idiot and tries again when he walks out of the store, a bag with a carton of chocolate milk and a few cans of Pringles in hand. He kneels down so he's eye level with her.

She just looks at him. So he waits and looks back.

"Valentine's Day sucks ass," she tells him tersely.

It's enough to startle a strangled, humorless laugh outta him. "Yeah," he agrees. He totally agrees. Though in some part of his brain that he usually tries to hide away, he realizes it's nice to be around someone who agrees. Someone who isn't all lovey-dovey couply gross and disgusting today. Or just for a change in general. 'Cause it seems like everywhere he looks, there are people hugging and kissing and holding hands and all the stuff he can't do with Rachel anymore and all the stuff he can't do with_ anyone_ anymore because he doesn't _wanna_ do it with anyone _but_ Rachel and there's just no way for them to make it happen. 'Cause she's not following him around anymore and he's not trying to get her to 'cause he still can't look her in the eyes and tell her it's all okay. It's not okay. Nothing is o-fucking-kay.

And he's tired of people acting like _he_ should be acting like it is. So at least when he's here right now with superskank Santana, well, at least they _both_ feel like shit and it has little or nothing to do with each other, unlike when he and Rachel are both miserable since they're both pissed/sad/devastated about the same thing—kinda. Whatever. Fuck Valentine's Day. You need love to be happy, but you don't need love to live. That's what he's learned.

"Come on." He pulls Santana up by her hands, noticing she's not wearing her Cheerios uniform. He frowns. "I'll drive you home."

She doesn't say yes, but she doesn't say no. So he pulls her along, debating with himself whether or not he should ask her that happened.

Doesn't really matter, he finds out, 'cause she tells him anyway.

"I got kicked off the Cheerios," she sobs as she climbs into the passenger side of his truck.

_Oh._ "Sucks," he manages. "How come?"

She glowers at him before sighing. "Cause Quinn is a bitch, okay? That's all I'm saying."

She slinks back into the seat and he turns the radio on, letting it play quietly and take up the space because he doesn't know what to tell her.

"Guess we have something in common, then," he mutters eventually.

The Cheerio—_ex_-Cheerio looks at him sharply and he finally starts the engine. "I mean, with Quinn screwing up our lives and all." He shrugs like it'll make a difference.

But to his surprise, Santana starts laughing—like, _hysterically._ She kinda sounds like a hyena. And it's so different from Rachel's adorable, musical laugh that he thinks his heart might be stopping 'cause he misses her. He misses being _happy _with her. God, if only she hadn't wanted him to feel like shit. He wouldn't be in a parking lot with a fucking psychopath ex cheerleader he can't even figure out what she's laughing about. Cheesus, maybe the rest of the world is just as unhappy and insane as he is.

That's actually not so awesome.

Finally, she calms down a little. "What's in the bag, Finneptitude?" she asks as he pulls out of the parking lot finally. Yeah, so this was a _really_ bad idea, this whole being nice to her thing. _God,_ why can't he just ever realize that no matter what people are gonna always think he's an idiot and always insult him. He doesn't really know what she just called him, but he knows her and he knows that no one ever says his name in front of a word like that when they're complimenting him.

Maybe he just needs a new name.

When he doesn't answer her, she rifles through it and opens his milk, drinking it right from the carton. He pulls over to a random stretch of road on in the middle of a bunch of other random stretches of road 'cause they're in the middle of Ohio, for Christssakes and no one gives a damn either way. So why should he?

"What the hell?" he demands. She pulls the carton away from her mouth.

"You don't have beer," she says simply, like it answers his question. Well, it kinda does in that she's doing the same thing he is; wishing for alcohol but settling for milk. But that's beside the point.

He scowls and rips the carton from her, taking a long pull from it himself. She opens a can of chips and he's so fucking hungry, he doesn't bother to yell at her. Anyway, what else is he gonna do tonight?

She's sort of inhaling them faster than he can blink. And he has no idea what's going on right now. It kinda feels like he's lost control of his thoughts and things are just happening and happening and he just goes along with it 'cause that's what he does when he doesn't have someone all short and pretty and scary to teach him how to be a better person. Except, he finds it funny he learned all that from her now, considering—_goddamn it._ Just _stop_ considering, he orders himself. _You're sitting in your truck with a hot girl who isn't Rachel, stop fucking thinking about her._

He just likes to ruin everything, doesn't he?

"I haven't been able to eat anything except for fucking sand for two years," she says, licking crumbs from her lips. He grabs his own can and grumbles. Why the hell did he even buy the pizza kind anyway?

"We fucking suck," Santana says suddenly. He looks at her and she takes the carton of milk away from him again. "Seriously," she goes on. "I was like the most popular girl in school and you were kinda popular and shit too and whatever, and here we are sitting in a truck, miserable and pathetic by ourselves on Valentine's Day like fucking losers." She throws her (his, really) empty Pringles can at him like it's all his fault or something, not that he should be surprised 'cause people like to blame him for everything anyway and he just takes their shit 'cause that's what he's always done. 'Til he changed, but then un-changed because he can't be _changed_ without having the person who changed him in his life, though it's not all his fault. Whatever. His falls back against his seat in annoyance.

There's no way this is healthy, but he doesn't make a move to leave. And soon she's telling him all about how Quinn told Ms Sylvester about something or other and the coach got mad and something else and okay, so he's not really listening, but he figures it doesn't matter that much. 'Cause she's talking and not being a bitch and he's bored, but if he goes home, he'll just be sitting on his ass alone and watching gory movies.

"Now I'm just another loser like the rest of you," she finishes like that's supposed to be comforting or something. Yeah. As if.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" she asks sourly.

He ignores her.

"You know, I could help you stop thinking about her," she suggests slyly, her hand slowly making its way to his thigh.

He eyes her warily. "No thanks." But he doesn't move her hand and suddenly her hand is unzipping his fly and he's just drinking chocolate milk from a carton and letting her 'cause he doesn't care enough about anything anymore to stop her. And fuck, he knows this is wrong and dickish but he's been a good person enough today. He didn't just kick her in the head like he'd wanted to. Why the fuck shouldn't he get something out of it for once? Why does he always have to be the bigger man?

'Cause Mr. Schue can preach that sometimes being special just sucks all he wants; it doesn't mean that the rest of the world owns up to everything and deals with everything the right way, even the _special_ people. 'Cause what about _Rachel?_ She's the most special person ever in the whole world, but it's not like _she _dealt with everything the right way, unless making out with your boyfriend's ex-best friend is the right way to deal with your problems, but he's pretty sure it's not.

It doesn't really feel that good, but she's leaning over him and his pants are already pushed down and he's so busy wondering if Rachel would have ever done this for him if they were still together. He likes to think she would because he knows she's kinda a prude, but she does research and they'd been steadily letting things between them get hotter before—well, just _before._

When Santana finishes, she lifts her head up again, licking her lips, and promptly resumes eating what's left of the chips. He fixes his pants and she asks, "Aren't you gonna return the favor?"

He sighs. "I'm driving you home, aren't I?" He starts the engine again and she tells him he's a dickwad. Like he gives a fuck. God, why the hell doesn't he feel any better? Why doesn't anything feel like it should?

He pulls into her driveway and she's still sulking. She finishes off his milk and throws the carton at his head. "Happy fucking Valentine's Day," she says caustically as she gets out of his truck, slamming the door and stomping into her house.

When he reaches his own house, he goes straight to his room to fall down on his bed. He's just made a mess of _everything._ Or more of mess of everything that already sucks and he just doesn't know what to do anymore.

He cries.

* * *

He skips school on Tuesday too because last night sucked a fat one and he's not in any sort of state to see anyone, especially not Santana and especially _especially_ not Rachel. Because even though what he's done doesn't count in the same way hers did because they're not together, it feels like it does. Because he asks himself if he's forgiven her, and he hasn't, but there are times he feels like he _could_ if he just knew _how _to. But he doesn't, so he remains in limbo and Rachel remains as some tiny star that's slowly fading away and it depresses him more than he thought it would. And if he sees her, he'll tell her and he'll break her heart, he knows it. But for some reason, that's not what he wants.

But maybe it's because it's just easier this way when she doesn't know _he knows_ he's to blame too. And without her, he's sort of a pussy, he knows. Like a little whiny bitch or a coward or whatever he was before, except more bitter and jaded. What it all really boils down to is just life is way too complicated for him to deal with at the moment. And schools makes everything worse.

He takes a box out from under his bed and it's filled with everything he hasn't been able to bring himself to look at in months. Pictures, ticket stubs, random notes they'd written in study hall and the rare moments when he could distract her in class. The cat calendar is in there too, along with letters she'd written him when she went to New York for three weeks in the summer. What's happened to him?

He doesn't think he knows and doesn't know if he thinks he can get it all back. And what makes it worse as that it doesn't matter because nothing can ever be the same again.

This time when his mom comes home, she tells him she loves him, but that he has to start going to school again. She doesn't want to keep getting phone calls. "You're a _great_ kid, Finn. And I hate to see you suffering." She takes his face in her hands. "I really do. But I don't want to see you go down this dark road." She has a little tear in her eye and it makes Finn feel like garbage 'cause he _hates_ doing this to his mom even more than he hates doing it to himself 'cause unlike _him,_ she doesn't deserve this.

"Okay," he agrees. "Yeah, I'll go tomorrow."

And he will. 'Cause he's gotta face his demons at some point.

Right?

* * *

On Wednesday, he sits next to Rachel in glee club. He doesn't _mean_ to, but he's late after spending ten minutes in the bathroom telling himself to keep it all together and it's the first seat he sees. She looks at him like he's a ghost and hell, he might as well be.

She's fidgety and it's a weird thing to see since she's usually so sure of herself and she'd been taking this all a lot better than he has, but she's always been the strong one. But he can tell he's making her nervous or something and it makes him feel kinda bad, but at the same time, it's sort of gratifying. 'Cause anyone who can make _Rachel Berry_ nervous has to be good at something, right? They have to mean something to her.

He zones out when Mr. Schue talks because he doesn't care, but he notices Santana giving him these looks and he's really not sure what they mean. Because she kinda seems, like, _mad,_ but also like she's trying to get him to remember Monday night when all he wants to do is forget it. Maybe she thinks it proved something. Well, it did, but he's pretty sure what it proved to him isn't what it proved to her because she doesn't _look_ like the mess he feels inside and probably looks outside.

He looks away from her and instead at Rachel and she smiles a little at him, so he nods and _holy shit_ this is awkward. He wants to get out of here. Or rather, he wants to get out of his head 'cause he's pretty sure it's a toxic place to be for the moment. He wouldn't want anyone to stay there. What the fuck is wrong with him, talking like other people can stay in his mind?

She says bye to him on their way out of rehearsal and his heart almost falls out of his chest because he doesn't know how he's supposed to feel when he hears her voice. But then Santana glares at him like he's her property before he can respond and Rachel looks intimidated, like she's seen that something is going on between them and there's _nothing._ He swears to himself it's nothing because he feels _nothing_ and he let things get out of hand when he shouldn't have, but it's not like he's planning on cozying up to Santana. And everyone is slowly getting used to her not being a Cheerio but he wishes she was because then nothing ever wouldn't happened because it _couldn't_ have happened and Rachel just looks _so sad _like she thinks he's doing it on purpose. But he can't find the words to tell her that it's _not._ And anyway, she's gone now and he's left with Santana and all of these feelings that he just can't explain.

"Finn," she says. No. _No no no no no._ He doesn't want her to call him by name. It'd be better if she insults him because then he knows that nothing's changed and they can go back to this thing where it's just her being pathetic in her own way and him being pathetic in _his_ own way instead of any kind of together patheticness.

"Santana."

"_Why_ are you still talking to her?" Her voice is extra sharp and nasally and annoying today and he just wants her to go away and wants it all to go away.

"What difference does it make?" he snaps. Though he didn't really _talk_ to Rachel though a part of him sorta wanted to. But he doesn't say that because it'll just make things worse and he's done enough of _making things worse_ to last a lifetime and really, he's only not even seventeen yet, so it's pretty damn sucky.

"You really don't get it, do you?" she asks. He doesn't say anything. "Your midget-worshiping days are over! Embrace a new era of your life. And take the fucking stick out of your ass."

And now he's _pissed._ Like, really. He's been bundling up so much in his life that sometimes he just needs a release and for once Santana is useful for something because she provides him that outlet. "Look, whatever I wanna do, I don't need your fucking permission! If I wanna talk or do anything with Ra—someone else, I _can._" He lowers his voice again 'cause they're in the hallway and he doesn't want whatever leftover teachers there are to come running over and ruin his dramatics. "Look, it was a mistake on Monday just like it was the first time. I don't know what's wrong with me and I _don't_ know what's wrong with you, but just _stop it._ Haven't you caused me enough trouble?" he asks bitterly. Then he turns away from her and walks to his locker.

"I _hate_ you!" she calls out after him.

"Good!" he yells back without looking at her.

* * *

Another week goes by and he fights with Santana a little, but they mostly ignore each other. But he still senses her dagger glares when he works with Rachel on an assignment—they're not singing or anything 'cause he's not ready for that, but it's nice trying to be comfortable with her again, even if it's not really working. But it's been months and if he wants to ever try to be happy again, he's got to give a little. Or something. Well, he read it out of a fortune cookie once and maybe most people didn't live of the mantras of cookies, but he doesn't really have anyone to give him good advice except maybe his mom and Burt but he doesn't want them to know just how fucked up his brain really is 'cause it'll just cause more pain and trouble than it's worth.

So he keeps it to himself.

But then she's yelling at him about _something_ after he's offered to give her a ride home because she looks sad and out of place in her regular clothes and Brittany spends all her time with Artie and stuff and miserable people don't make him feel as good about himself as they did a few weeks ago. But then they're fighting about something like always and she's so _loud_ but her voice is annoying.

"I don't know what your problem is!" she yells.

Neither does he 'cause he's not really sure what he did except for all the things he _didn't_ do, but it's too much to think about. "That's 'cause you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself!" he counters.

"Oh, like you're any different! You don't care if I'm happy or if _anyone _else is happy because—"

And he does the stupidest thing ever. He kisses her. It's really sloppy and his tongue is kinda down her throat and she grips his shirt too tightly. And she tastes wrong and bitter—like leftovers. But he keeps doing it for a minute before he pulls away.

His eyes are cold when he looks at her again. "There!"And he hope the vein in his neck isn't popping out too much 'cause he hates when it does that and he _hates_ that he's getting _this_ angry about fucking _Santana_ of all people. "Is that what you wanted? Then fine! At least _one_ of us can be happy then."

And he's already running away from her and doesn't see the look of satisfaction in her eyes. And he's just running and running again. He even runs home, then returns a few hours later to get his truck, but then he just drives to the park where he used to go with Rachel and hopes she didn't see what happened earlier because he's screwed up enough already. Neither of them need it. And even if he can't be with her, he doesn't want to be with anyone else either or for her to think that he is.

He strips down and even though it's not quite March yet and the water's cold, he jumps in the lake anyway because feeling cold is better than feeling awful.

He does his best to ignore Santana for the rest of the month because he just…_can't._ He can't be near her. And he can't be near her without screwing everything up and he knows running away isn't the answer and he would never do that to his mom. But fuck. It's so hard to be okay. It's so hard to _want_ to be okay, but not be able to.

Rachel looks at him sometimes too, only now he looks back like for real and wonders if they're gonna start being friends again. A part of him hopes so because maybe that's the best way to start off again, you know? Because if he's not her boyfriend, he doesn't have to wonder if she's swapping spit with someone else while they're dating. And he can only half-talk 'cause he feels like shit about kissing Santana, but that's more about him than a relationship or a relationship he _used_ to have. Or whatever.

He thinks maybe Santana's given up and he has to decide how he feels about it because he has to decide how he feels about _everything_ these days. Nothing comes easily anymore and there's no _just feeling._

Except for feeling shitty.

* * *

And then one day he goes to school and his eyes almost bug out of his head because he sees Santana. And she's wearing this plaid skirt and this sweater with like a rabbit or something on it and her bangs are—she _has_ bangs and he thinks he's imagining stuff, but then he realizes he would _never_ imagine this in a million years and everything just hurts _more_ because of it.

But he doesn't get a chance to talk to her until after school when he hears her singing some song in the auditorium and he stops because he's just so _tired_ of everything. He wants life to go back to what it was, but he's learned you have to work for it and he has no motivation to do so.

So he walks in and when she's done singing, she notices and hops off the stage, but she doesn't make a move to come towards him, so he goes to her. "What the hell is going on?" he demands, grabbing her wrist.

She pulls away. "What?" she answers coolly. "I thought this was what you liked?" No not _again._ Why are girls always changing themselves like this? He remembers sitting in Rachel's room last year and she was wearing that weird black thing and she looked _so hot_ but it wasn't right just like Santana dressing like Rachel—_real_ Rachel isn't right, even if she's not as hot as Rachel and not hot in the same way.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Santana, I like those clothes _on Rachel._ That's who she is. This isn't who _you_ are." He tells her. It comes out harsher than he intends, but then maybe that's how it needs to be anyway. He really doesn't know.

"How do you even know who I am?" she asks him.

"I—" he starts.

"You _don't._ You don't because all you care about is a fucking hobbit with a bad haircut even though you haven't been together in _months_ and being around the both of you makes everyone feel awkward and uncomfortable and _gross,_" she spits. Her hands are balled and he's actually kinda afraid of her and that usually doesn't happen with anyone but Rachel because when Rachel is furious, it's about the most frightening thing in the whole word. But he's pretty sure right now that Santana is gonna punch him and he'd probably just let her since he probably deserves it anyway.

But she doesn't and he's just looking at him angrily and he tries to find something, _anything_ to say. "She's not a hobbit," is all he manages.

She gives him an incredulous look. "You're not even considering my feelings about this," he says weakly, trying to defend…_something._ If his brain, if his heart, if any fucking thing in his body would _work_ right now, that'd be _fantastic._

"_Feelings?_" she shrieks. "Really? What about _my_ feelings? You sure as hell don't give a damn about _my_ feelings! So why the fuck should I care how _you_ feel when all you do is mope over Rachel fucking Berry like she's the greatest thing that ever happened to you, even though you're still so butthurt over her that you forgot how to put your shirts on the right way!" She looks at him pointedly and he looks down and holy fuck his shirt is inside out. Jesus, maybe he _is_ more pathetic than she is, after all. "You're still fucking in love with her, aren't you?" She pokes her finger into his shoulder. Hard.

"Yes!" he explodes. "I'm still _fucking_ in love with her! What do you want me to say, Santana? That everything's over between me and her? It's not. That I'm gonna fall at her feet and get back together with her right away like she didn't shatter my heart? I'm not. But, _yes._ I'm in love with her and I don't think anything's gonna change that."

The ex-Cheerio bites her lip for a second and it's like she's trying to copy all of Rachel's gestures and it just _breaks_ him because Rachel Berry is the only Rachel Berry and his knees start to buckle and before he knows it, he's fallen to the ground and he doesn't know if it's him crying or Santana crying. But she kneels down next to him and he gets this weird déjà vu feeling except reversed.

"Fine," she says eventually. "I guess _neither_ of us will be happy," she tells him, using his own words against him. Then she walks out and he knows it's over and that she'll probably never talk to him again. And he doesn't know why he doesn't feel gladder about that. But it's over and that's all he knows, though he still hasn't picked himself off the floor and doesn't know if he's actually capable of doing so.

"Finn?" he hears a voice squeak out.

He picks his head up and his stomach drops. "Rachel?" he croaks.

She approaches him slowly. "I was walking to my locker and heard—you're still in love with me?" she asks softly as she holds out her hand to help him up.

He grimaces, but takes her hand anyway, otherwise he might never get up. "Yeah."

She nods. "If it makes a difference, I'm still in love with you, too." She looks at him like he hold all the answers, which is garbage because he's barely holding himself together. He opens his mouth like he's gonna talk, but nothing comes out. And he sees something flash in her eyes, and he's not sure what it is, but it might be determination or hope.

But when he can't reply, she just sighs tiredly and squeezes his hand, smiling sadly at him before letting go. She steps back. And then, just like before, she walks out.

And then, just like before, he can't find the courage to stop her.

* * *

_Ah, I'm sorry! I really am. I know you all probably wanted/expected a happy ending after all that. But that's what Wish is for, which I'll have the next chapter of up as soon as possible._

_Even if you hated it and want to throw stuff at me, please let me know your thoughts. I'm sorry for all the angst. :(_

Oh, and also if you don't already, you can (should) totally follow me on twitter. (egyouppt) because I'd love to hear from/chat with you all. :) 

_Reviews = love _


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